It begins with pressure.

Barely there.

A disturbance passing through the senses.

Air finds its way in,

lifting what was meant to fall,

unfastening the stillness.

Hair loses direction.

Fabric forgets its shape.

The landscape begins to shift without moving.

Something invisible is taking place.

The body learns it first,

through skin, temperature, resistance.

A quiet alteration with no clear intent.

The stronger the current,

the less certain the edges.

What seemed fixed becomes porous.

What seemed distant comes closer.

Perhaps wind is only the first passage.

A way of entering another state

before knowing what waits beyond it.

Then everything moves differently